Suddenly Nocturnal
by Antique-Aussie
Summary: A story depicting Carlisle Cullen's change. I suppose this is my version of events, everyone is entitled to theirs are they not? Not sure where this one will lead, but enjoy none the less as it's still a work in progress. Comments appreciated ;
1. Chapter 1

Notes: I know there are other stories out there depicting Carlisle's change. I suppose this is my version of events, everyone is entitled to theirs are they not? Not sure where this one will lead, but enjoy none the less! As ever, I do not own the characters, perhaps William, I just like to have play dates with the others!

Suddenly Nocturnal

The grey cobblestones gave way to a compacted and worn earth track to the door of a modest looking timber house with a slight lean to its roof. He opened the door with its slight creak and tried to avoid the loose floorboard. If he was not so busy leading raids, questioning folk and his studies he would have that hinge fixed and nailed that floorboard. It too often gave his father notice he was home when all he longed to do was lie on his cot or sit in the chair beside the fire.

The house lacked the feminine qualities a lady so often brings to a home. His mother having died giving him life (for which he prayed and thanked God for her sacrifice everyday) had been gone from this home for some 23 years now and no woman could or had been found to replace her.

The hunting of those wicked vampires and their consorts were not the only things plaguing Carlisle Cullen's mind. His aging father was adamant he should be the leader of the hunts, that he should take a wife soon to continue the Cullen line and that he should be more forceful in his duties and not to dally for the Lord could take them at any time.

"Is that you boy?" a gravelly voice issued from down the stairs. Carlisle's attempts at subterfuge had failed. "Yes father, it's I" Carlisle replied rolling his eyes. No one else let themselves in unannounced. He took his brown overcoat off and hung it in the hook, and removed his hat, patting his hair down as it flew about with the removal of his hat.

"Did you find any today boy?" his father asked with heightened interest.

"No father, we are going out again tonight" he called up to his father whilst examining the table to find that there was naught but crumbs left, again. "Father, have you eaten all the bread again? I'm going to have to hide it and I don't feel much like going to Bessie and asking for more" he said in frustration.

His father was the one doing the hiding, he tried to encourage Bessie and Carlisle in any way he could, if only to bring about an announcement sooner. He smiled at this thought and plan of his and innocently added "You know I cannot stomach much, I am ailing and can only withstand bread and milk. Bessie shall not mind a jot" he added.

Again, Carlisle rolled his eyes. He was glad his father couldn't see this, the thrashing he received years ago for getting caught at mocking his father taught him to never do it again. Well, at least not in front of him. He instinctively rubbed his arm from the memory.

"I know she doesn't" he replied "nor does she mind any gentleman who comes to visit her" he added quietly to himself. He quickly evaded anymore talk by falling asleep in front of the fire. This raid was going to prove fruitful he assured himself and fell asleep. He woke to the smell of the fire smoldering; he stoked it up again and stretched his limbs. The stars were out now and that meant time to go hunting again.

There was a soft knock on the door, Carlisle put the poker down and opened the door. His friend William, helping in the hunt had come to collect him.

"Are you ready" he said eagerly, smiling and rubbing his hands, his breath issuing in clouds before him. "Comon Carlisle, get your act together" he said laughing. Carlisle, still in a slight sleep induced daze, took his coat from the wooden peg beside the door "Say a prayer for me father" he called up the stairs to his more than likely asleep father. He shook his head as no answer came and followed William to the fountain in the centre of town.

The smell of smoke wafted on the air, there was no breeze and the clouds hung low, dim lamp light spilled onto the streets where windows were open. "Where do you intend to go tonight, Peter keeps telling everyone that the house on the hill with the old croan.." William babbled.

"They are not there William" Carlisle calmly told him "My money is under the very earth we tread".

"Hell?" William questioned him.

"Almost my friend, the sewers is what I refer too. No one ever goes down there, its filthy, it's a genius hiding place when you give thought to it. That's why we don't leave the thinking up to you" Carlisle joked and quickly stepped to avoid a jovial punch to the arm. The two were laughing as they approached the small crowd.

"Evening Carlisle, William" the tallest man said stepping forward and nodded to the pair.

"Good evening Thomas" Carlisle replied. "Do you think we have everybody accounted for?" he asked eyeing the crowd with flames from the torchlight licking their faces. They almost resembled the very things they hunted with their determined expressions.

"Where do you intend to go tonight?" Thomas asked. He was the oldest man present, being of some forty years, the rest were young and in high spirits for the capture of one of the beasts of the night. Too many innocents had been taken from their town and revenge was so close tonight they could almost taste it.

"I intend to take a party to Bent street" Carlisle began, but was interrupted by groans and loud audible exhaling of breath.

"But we've already been that way Master Cullen" Peter began stepping forward, "We are wasting time going over old ground, your father would have moved on already" he continued, clearly annoyed by the plans just explained.

"That's exactly why we are going over them again" William spoke up, cutting off anything Carlisle was about to say. "We have not been back for how long now? And besides, we do not intend to search above it, but below it" he said defensively, closing the matter. "If you wish to go now then go, but I for one am staying" he folded his arms defiantly over his chest.

"I knew there was a reason I keep you beside me" Carlisle whispered to his friend, relief ringing in his voice, he hated conflict.

"Think nothing of it, you can get me back later" William replied, a smile playing on his voice. This exchange went unnoticed in the dark; the crowd were trying to decide whose side to take. They silently sided with Carlisle; Peter fumed, but said not a word.

"If we are all at one, then follow me" William said, turning and leading the party to Bent Street. Carlisle and William walked a few feet in front of the crowd, the two could almost be mistaken for brothers if it were not for the fact that Carlisle were fair haired and William's were black as pitch. Their shadows fell on the little wooden houses, ominous and elongated in the torch light. The pitchforks they held making the crowd look even more menacing.


	2. Chapter 2

As they approached the dilapidated sign marked 'Bent Street', Carlisle threw his arm out to stop the crowd moving further. A hush spread about them, some tightened their grip on their scythes and one young man dropped his pitchfork, sending it clattering to the ground. William whipped around to silence them with a fierce glare.

The group had not actually come into contact with a real vampire before. Heretics had been burned in their stead as the real creatures were too fast to be caught. "Do you hear that?" Carlisle asked softly.

"Hear what?" Thomas asked. Others shook their heads, straining to hear anything.

"I hear nothing" Peter replied.

"Exactly" Carlisle countered. "Should there not be the mutter of people? Why is there no one around here? Even there are no rats!" he exclaimed.

"Carlisle is right, we believe they are hiding in the sewers, now don't make that face Barty, we are not making anyone go down there, we will simply watch and wait. They will have to come out some time" William told them.

And so they took their positions. Thomas led a group of five men to the entrance of North Street and there they sat. Peter led another group of five to the opposite side of Bent Street, Carlisle remained with William and three young boys. After two hours of watching naught but a drain the young boys fell asleep. Carlisle drew his cloak around himself and sat down, after pacing back and forth to keep warm, his legs grew tired and he needed a rest. William got up and declared they needed a warm drink. He walked across the street and minutes later returned with two steaming jugs of ale. The sweet aroma and spices drifted on the air and Carlisle gladly wrapped his hands around it to keep warm.

The two of them sat in silence, sipping the warm ale. Carlisle finished his mug first and placed it beside him.

"Did you hear that" William asked suddenly, gripping Carlisle's arm, looking feverishly around.

"It was just I putting my mug down" Carlisle replied, slightly confused.

"No, that's not it, I think it came from over there" William said softly and nodded to somewhere over the far end of the street. "If Peter is behind this, so help me God" William began.

"Calm yourself, I'll go and see to it" Carlisle said, rising and walking tentatively in the shadows. He had not gone more than five paces when a creature emerged from the dark drain. Carlisle stopped in his tracks. The creature was tall and thin, it moved cautiously but its head moved far to fast to be human. It turned its head and called in latin, something Carlisle was not expecting. Yet he understood all the same.

"I care not, I am going out, you can starve and remain or you can feed and grow strong" it spat out to presumably others of its kind in the drains.

Carlisle's eyes grew wide with fear; he instinctively, and without a conscious thought, took a step back, his coat playing around his ankles with the movement. This was enough to draw attention to himself and the creature locked its eyes on him. Where were his men that he had stationed about the corner? Curiosity overtook his fear and he began to pray in latin as he took a cautious step forward. He thought he heard the creature laugh.

In a heartbeat the creature was before him, gazing intently at him. Its black eyes deep in its sockets studying Carlisle, its skin stretched over its bones and looking like death itself. It whispered something in Carlisle's ear and threw its head back to attack him.

"NO!" William shouted and he bolted forward. The creature bit Carlisle all the same and he yelled in agony and tried to tear himself away. The creature cast Carlisle aside onto the cold flagstones as William came forward with a scythe.

The other groups, now alerted by the noise, stormed from their hiding positions. The creature stood, looking trapped, assessing its options for but a moment then ran forward and scooped William up. Carlisle saw this and tried to shout out, but only blood and a horrid noise gurgled from his throat. He clutched at the pain and felt disorientated.

William yelled out, but his cries became fainter as the creature gained ground still carrying his prize. The group ran after the creature, oblivious to Carlisle bleeding on the street. The blood stained his hands and began to trickle into his clothes. He began to feel fire in his veins and taking a breath was difficult. He dragged himself across the street. He couldn't hear the mob any more, just the sound of his heart thudding frantically in his chest, like it was about to burst out from his ribs.


	3. Chapter 3

He knew what he would become and what would happen if his men returned to find him. But should he let them? Instinct overtook him again and he gripped the raised cobblestones and pulled himself forward, one stone at a time. The cool stones were almost comforting against the fierce fire that blazed across his skin and in his very bones. Lifting himself over the gutter proved difficult. His limbs did not want to obey the simple message of 'rise'. Eventually he crawled to an open cellar. The smell of rotting potatoes was overwhelming. But it was a safe haven and it was away from prying eyes and the mob that was bound to come back looking for their leader.

He crawled through the rusted bars and proceeded to cover himself in potatoes. Still in agony, he bit down many a time on a potato to stop himself from crying out. He writhed and twisted in pain but did not scream out. His breath came in shallow gasps, and he wished for death on more than one occasion. His veins were pulsing with livid fire all over his body. As the pain coursed through him, memories and thoughts fired through his mind. If this was dying he hoped his mother had not suffered like this. Surely he would be going to hell, heaven would not start with such pain. After three days, but what seemed an eternity, the pain started to subside and he could hear clearly for the first time in days. He opened his eyes for the first time also, it was dark inside the cellar, yet he could still see clearly. He was still covered in potatoes, he picked one up to start uncovering himself and he crushed it into a fine paste without meaning too. He dropped the potato as if he had touched fire, horrified with himself at this new ability.

He suddenly realized with repulsion that usually this sort of fright should have sent his heart racing. His chest did not respond in the slightest. It was dead. Impulsively he brought his hands to chest and tore at the blood stained shirt and placed his hand there. Nothing, no beat, no weak pulsing, it was silent. He hung his head in sorrow at what he had become. The very thing he hated and loathed. Was this God's punishment, for not being a strict and faithful son? For burning Catholics and Heretics? For any tiny mistake that he was unaware of yet the Lord always saw? He was convinced it was all these things. He could not walk out now onto the street, back to the life he knew. He was sure his men would have come to the conclusion that something untoward had happened to him. And he held very little hope that his friend William was still alive. Perhaps he was like himself? No, he couldn't think like that. Death would be better than this.

He heard the church bells start tolling, this was not a joyous occasion for which they rang, this was for lives lost. He listened, they were very loud, he counted a set of 54. His fathers age, he felt himself falling inwardly. And then they started again, he counted 23 being rung twice. This must mean that William had not lived either, and the second set represented himself. He was sure if he had a heart, it would have broken.

He stood up, expecting to be unsettled on his feet. But he stood tall and upright. He heard a footstep and was behind the cart of potatoes in a heartbeat, hiding. He waited, listened and watched for the footfall to pass the iron bars. But they did not. He saw in fact the footfall that he heard across the street. This was far too much for him. But with the footfall came the inevitable thirst. His throat burned. He gripped his throat, willing the pain to go away. He bit on a potato maybe that might sate the hunger? But it did nothing of the sort, he spat it out. There was only one thing that was going to make it go away and he was not going to give in to it. When the sun disappeared, he would run, only God knows where, if God cared at all for him now.


	4. Chapter 4

He waited long into the night. Hopefully no one would be so half witted as to remain out of doors, perhaps the other vampires, he didn't like to even think of the name and cringed, perhaps they had been chased out of town or maybe they had been caught? Either way, he was not going to stay to find out. The moon rose behind the billowing smoke issuing from the peacefully ignorant houses. Everyone was sitting down to meals, praying for their health, for lost souls. He would now be included in those prayers, as much as he didn't deserve it now. He peeked from his self made prison. The streets were empty. If he made it out down North Street that would lead him out to the forest. Away from prying eyes and he would be able to think, he hoped.

He found he had extraordinary speed. He was soon out beyond the towns boundaries. And he had not come across a single soul. All the better for them he thought darkly.

He slowed down and stopped under a tree. Moonlight filtered through the branches, he sat on a fallen tree, letting his mind process all that had happened, when he noticed his hands. He turned them in the faint light. They were not the sun touched hands that he knew. They were milk white, he flexed his fingers and looked at his palms and then again at the back of his hands, no longer where there veins, blue with blood pumping in them, just a glossy white skin that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. Anger overtook him and he slammed his fist into the tree trunk. It didn't hurt like he hoped it would have. Instead a perfect mould of his fist remained on the innocent tree.

He growled and in a desperate fit tore his belt off and tied it around his neck and jumped for the nearest limb of the tree. He fixed the other end to it and let himself fall. He was going to hell no matter what, if not for what he had become, surely for taking one's life. The desired effect was not met. He swung back and forth, nothing was affected, not his breathing, he barely felt any constricting, if anything the belt snapped and he landed with a thud on the ground. There he lay, defeated, he dug his hands in the dirt and lay there, face down. He screwed his face up and pounded the earth and leaves in frustration.

He stood and bolted head first through the trees. Even in the black of night he didn't hit a single trunk. Maybe if he did he pondered. He ran purposely into a tree trunk. It did nothing to him but felled the tree in one movement. 'Gah' he let out in exasperation. He was not hurt in the slightest. He stood stock still and listened intently. He closed his eyes and could hear water running in the distance. He turned north west and ran, this was easy, but no, he wasn't going to revel in the new found speed. This was a gift from Hades, and a gift not to be treasured or accepted. He followed the sound of water, which was a gentle babbling, it had to start somewhere after all.

He did not intend to live with the devils gifts. If there was any way to bargain for his soul he would use any means possible. If St Peter did guard those gates maybe he could convince him that if he hadn't used the devils gifts he may have a chance at heaven. This pulled him up short and he stopped suddenly. He began to laugh at himself, the idea of standing before the gates and arguing with the lords right hand man.

"Bargaining at the gates of Heaven?" he chortled to himself. He started laughing out loud at himself. "Why on God's green earth should.." he dissolved into hysterical laughter again. He was kidding himself for even trying. But he could not stop laughing, it wasn't funny. It was beyond a joke, and he could not stop himself. He was mad. Crazy. A lunatic. A monster. He sobered quickly at this thought and remembered what he was doing, tracing the source of the water. He heard it before he saw it, the pounding of the water tumbling over the waterfall. The air became cooler and damp as he approached.

He slowed down to a walk and walked purposely up the hill to the edge. The roar of the water spilling hundreds of feet below him was so loud to his ears. He picked up a stone to throw it straight down, but he accidentally crushed it like the potato. Frustrated at this he picked up another and threw it down into the mist swirling at the bottom and heard it smash into rocks that couldn't be seen through the water spray. He didn't need to think twice, he took a running jump and dove over the edge, letting himself almost fly through the night to the dark and sharp rocks that would hopefully bring eternal night, and if they didn't, the water would. "Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, they will be done, on earth as it is in heaven, give us today our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses" he spoke as he tumbled toward the rocks, "as we forgive those who trespass against us and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil" he spluttered out as the rocks came into sharp focus, inches from his face, he cringed, prepared for the pain. But there was none.

He bounced around the rocks, his clothes tearing and ripping. Yet still he did not die. He let himself drift and be pulled under by the current. It did not affect him the way it would have days ago. He drifted to the surface, the air hit his face. As he came to realise, he could not cry, the water on his face replaced real tears. It was the nearest he was going to get. He drifted back with the current to the pounding waterfall and let it push him under.

The water pushed him under and out on its current, where he washed up on the shore, his clothes sodden and ruined and now encrusted with dirt from the shoreline.


End file.
